


Arctic Blaze

by bittenfeld



Category: Ice Station Zebra
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Male Slash, Pre-Slash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4326771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tiny unfinished bit.  On a top-secret mission to the Arctic, submarine captain Commander Ferraday and the sub’s civilian passenger, David Jones, discover they have certain… recreational… interests in common…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arctic Blaze

A muffled grunt and a sharp thud from the executive officer’s stateroom. Commander James Ferraday, captain of the nuclear sub USS Tigerfish, snapped his attention toward the direction of the disturbance. Any more problems he could really do without today.

Two steps down the corridor, and he slammed open the door, ready for anything. Into the dimness he reached a hand, and snapped on the ceiling light.

Their VIP British passenger, civilian David Jones, had immobilized Lieutenant Dawson against the bulkhead in an effective headlock. Abruptly he released his grip under the captain’s surprised assertive stare.

Coughing, Dawson pulled away, and raised a hand to his bruised throat, although he seemed none the worse for wear.

“A thousand pardons,” Mr. Jones apologized and stepped back with a smile too calm and too practiced. “The leftenant tripped accidentally, and I was assisting him to his feet.”

“With an arm around his neck?” the captain questioned dryly. “What’s going on here?” Gaze shifted to his exec. “Mister Dawson?”

The younger man didn’t meet the captain’s eyes. Face taut, lips thinned. Self-consciously he cleared his throat, then admitted, “I didn’t trip, sir. I started it.”

“Started what, Mister Dawson?”

A half-smile tugged at the corner of Jones’s lips. “We were discussing a mutual acquain­tance, Captain, and Leftenant Dawson became a bit over-excited.”

“Is that what happened, Lieutenant?” Ferraday closed the door for privacy. He was tired, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for mind-games.

The lieutenant hesitated, head down, but gaze darting up at Jones. Finally he responded uneasily, “We were discussing my brother Jeremy.”

“And?”

“Mr. Jones is a… a homosexual, sir.”

“A, uh, ‘fucking faggot’ is the term you used, I do believe,” Jones reminded helpfully.

The young man’s face darkened in embarrassment. “And I told him I didn’t want him sharing my cabin. I said I’d drop hints around about him, if he didn’t get out.. And then I tried to throw him out bodily, but then he threw me up against the bulkhead… And that’s when you walked in, sir.”

Ferraday just watched the younger man with calm tired eyes. “What have you got against Mr. Jones that the rest of us don’t, Lieutenant? And how did you discover this fascinating tidbit about our guest anyway? Did he proposition you?”

Again the exec’s gaze flitted over the Englishman, an expression of disgust winking through the rigid façade. “No sir. But I thought he might. Six years ago, he was my brother’s… umm… ‘friend’. I told him then to get the hell out of Jerry’s life… and mine.”

“Don’t worry, Leftenant,” Jones assured. “You’re about ten years too young for my tastes. And I’d be happy to get out of your life,” he acquiesced, gaze moving around the crowded cubicle. “But we’re two-hundred miles out to sea. Uh, where would you suggest I go?”

Ferraday ignored the other man’s playfully needling comment. “Mister Dawson,” he reminded calmly, “we are in the middle of a run with a deadline of sixty-two hours. The navigational computer is having fits, and the head in the crew’s quarters is clogged. I need an exec on his toes. Your perso­nal problems are of little importance right now.”

Stiffly the man’s head nodded once, and his breath, he muttered, “Yes sir.”

“Quarters are cramped, but I will move Mr. Jones in with me, so as not to distract your attention from you job, Lieutenant. You will say nothing to anyone. Because I promise you, if I hear anyone repeating your ‘hints’ about Mr. Jones’s presumed proclivities, I’ll have you disciplined, mister. I could discipline you right now for assault.”

But the Englishman just shook his head, expression still calm and acquiescent. “Excuse me, Captain, I wasn’t aware that the leftenant was deliberately assaulting me. I just thought he tripped against me.”

Ferraday tossed a small glance his way, then spoke again to the younger man. “Now, don’t you have duties waiting, Lieutenant?”

Sharply Dawson nodded. “Yes sir,” then turned stiffly, opened the door, and left. The door slammed behind him.

Ferraday turned his attention to their passenger. “I apologize for my exec, Mr. Jones. I promise it won’t happen again. Now if you’d like to gather up your things, I’ll take you down to my quarters.”

Jones was watching the closed door, after the other man, then flicked a quick smile up to the captain. “He’s right, you know,” he admitted. “I am a ‘fucking faggot’.”

Ferraday’s expression registered nothing. “Mr. Jones, right now I don’t care if you have a preference for inviting bunny rabbits to high tea every Tuesday afternoon.”

That widened Jones’s smile. “But aren’t you concerned if I move in with you, that I may entertain lustful thoughts about you, or suggest an illicit proposition?”

“Your thoughts are your own, Mr, Jones,” the captain reminded, watching him steadily, “and if you do make any illicit propositions, I will simply remind you that this is not the time… or the place.”

Abruptly the Englishman’s gaze locked on his face, mild surprise replacing the previous self-assured expression. Ferraday’s expression held steadily on the visitor’s face. But then Jones re­gained his composure, and acknowledged, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Captain.”

“Good,” Ferraday responded and opened the cabin door again. “Now, we have an operation to run, Mr. Jones. Shall we get back to it?”

Jones gathered his suitcase, tweed jacket, and hat, to follow the captain out of the cabin. “Yes, indeed, let us get back to it, Captain.”  
* * * * *

[ _some time later_ ]

“Yes, I spent a few weeks with Leftenant Dawson’s brother six years ago.”

“How can you risk that – such as being recognized and exposed later?” Ferraday queried. “Doesn’t that make you a security risk? Suppose Dawson chose to blackmail you?”

The curly-haired brunet in black slacks and black turtleneck merely smiled a subtle turn of lips. “Those of my superiors who need to know, already know. And the reason they don’t get rid of me is because I’m the best at what I do. So, no, blackmail is of little concern to me. But what about you, Commander? Surely the United States Navy would discharge you if they knew.”

Ferraday’s shoulder lifted slightly. “A couple of my superiors know, too. And I play it very discreetly and very carefully. And they look the other way… for now.”

. . . . .

 _to be continued… someday_ …

 


End file.
